


Inevitable

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Drabble, Drama, Established Relationship, F/F, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: It happens in the best of relationships.





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Meryl Streep Day!

Andy doesn't want to be there. She thinks Miranda, despite her insistence and the tough show she's putting on, doesn't want to be there either.

The table, strong and sturdy mahogany with a polished top, seems far too long for two people and a lawyer, whose black suit and grey tie are incredibly befitting of the mood on this sad day, as is the raging storm outside, beating its wet fists against the large windows of the conference room, signaling a doom they've both been trying to stave off for too long.

It was time, Miranda said with very little emotion behind the words, though now she's as somber as Andy has ever seen her. They'd been putting it off for too long, she also said. Better get it over with. It would do nobody good to wait any longer.  _Think of the girls,_ she felt it necessary to add, driving the knife just that bit deeper.

So they sit now in leathery chairs before a long, long table, with papers that await their respective signatures. The lawyer looks at them expectantly, trying to disguise his impatience and restrain from checking his watch because even though this might be one of if not the biggest decision Andy and Miranda will ever make, even though the finality of it looms in every inch and corner of the room, he still has other clients whose lives he's paid to intefere in.

And yet, Andy takes her time re-reading the scary words on the paper over and over again, their tone legal and detatched--an impersonal script that has been typed too many times for too many people it's hard to imagine this one is aimed at her. She drinks in every black letter printed against white, stalling the inevitable, trying to convince herself that there's never a way to prepare for this. She thinks of her life with Miranda, the memories they've made together, and the moment it'll all come to a grinding halt and leave her with nothing. Nothing except--

"I don't want the Porsche," she blurts out even though it's already too late, even though the neatly printed paper already informs her that Miranda has been kind enough to let her have it. They're not here to talk these things out anymore--the money, their assets, the children; they're here to seal the deal with silver _Montblanc_ pens.

"It's a good car, Andrea, you should keep it," Miranda responds stiffly, her entier posture tensing up. The grey outside is mirrored in her face, her eyes refusing to meet any of the room's occupants', and she seems to want to just be done with the whole thing despite being the one to drag Andy to the expensive lawyer's office in the first place.

Andy argues nevertheless, "I don't want it."

"Then sell it," Miranda says shortly, impatiently. "It doesn't matter."

And it doesn't, not really. The car, it's not part of their relationship and it's as insignificant as the expensive wedding ring Andy will be giving back. It'll be something that sits in the garage and collects dust, not something to bring her close to Miranda again like her unique scent on the other side of the bed or shared mornings drinking coffee and reading the paper in companionable silence. But it's something to focus on when Andy can't bring herself to pick up the pen and scribble her name across a dashed line, formalizing her agreement with this insanity.

This is not the direction she ever pictured their relationship going in, not when she entered it years prior, not when it was all pink bliss and the notion of it ever ending unthinkable. She looks to Miranda, begging with a silent expression for them to leave, to forget about the papers, to forget everything and return to the pink bliss.

Miranda doesn't look back.

The lawyer clears his throat and Andy's gaze snaps back to him, then to the paper, and she rasps, "So this is it?"

"This is a big decision," the lawyer says solemnly, and even as he looks anxious to move on with his day, he adds, "you should take your time."

Miranda doesn't take her time. She uncaps her pen, inhales through her nose, and quickly scrawls her name across its designated line, her handwriting neat and bold in the flawless, black ink. It's after she places the pen in perfect symmetry in the middle of the paper that she sags back into the hard, dark leather of her chair and lets out the breath she took.

She finally turns to Andy, whose shaking hand can't mimic the ease with which she signed their end. With eyes that just moments before were steely and hard, she lets Andy know that it's okay, that they're okay. And Andy has to believe her.

She grasps her own pen in a white-knuckle grip, pulls the paper to her, and scans her eyes one last time across the black, morbid letters at the top: _Last Will and Testament of Andrea Sachs._ At the bottom of the page, she signs her name, and releases her own long breath.


End file.
